Disclaimer: The ideas are mine, but I'm simply borrowing the characters.

Rating: PG-13, just 'cause.

Summary: They tell each other lies at night, when there's nothing there to shine light on the truth.

AN: One part, completely random. Let's just say...Rory went with Jess when he asked her to come with him. This is a year or two down the line.

The Lying Kind

He tells her lies at night. Some girls get whispered sweet nothings, but she gets lies, breathed out so softly and easily that she wants to hate him for it.

He tosses out words like love, forever, beautiful. Each syllable is like a hard slap across her cheek. She wants to believe him, but she knows she can't, and that just gives each kiss a bitter taste lying underneath it.

Daylight hits them, and it's harder to keep up the lies, a spotlight shining on all their imperfections. The world is open to them; everyone pries, looks, whispers. She finds herself unsure, doubting him. She can't pinpoint exactly when these doubts became so thick, but they're practically tangible now. Everyone has an opinion, and all the input is suffocating her.

You're such a smart girl, they say. You could do anything, she is told. But him-him!-he's nothing. They've added up his worth, and there's nothing there.

But to her, he's sometimes everything, though she spends the rest of her time trying to convince herself he isn't. (She could leave him at anytime, no looking back, she's sure.)

Under the scrutiny of the day, she thinks they may fall apart. These days they spend avoiding each other, avoiding a confrontation of the obvious problems. They were always good at that, anyhow.

But then the sun falls under the horizon, and it's just Rory, and just Jess. They like it better that way, because being alone is all for the better in this intricate game of pretend they insist on playing.

The darkness settles around them, like a security blanket wrapping around them snugly. The impassive kisses of midday take new shape come midnight, and are laced delicately with passion. His mouth presses against her so hungrily it almost scares her, but she pushes back, because, in all truth, she's starving for him. His tongue probes, and a small moan escapes the back of her throat. His hands are splayed on the milky pale skin of her back, and it drives her crazy insane. She fights back at him, pulling at his shirt, running her hands through his hair, up and down his neck, until he surrenders.

He pulls away and rests his forehead against hers, panting. She smiles weakly at him, for she's really shaking at the lingering shock his touch still leaves embedded in her skin.

I love you, he breaths, sliding his thumb down her cheek gently. She tells she knows, and right now, she really does.

You're beautiful, he says, and he strokes her hair softly. He places his hand on the small of her back, dipping her back onto the bed. Eagerly, she kisses him sharply, enjoying his quick draws breath as she takes and takes, only pausing to moan a falsity in his ear. (I love you, she tells him. Always and forever, she promises.)

He knows she's a liar, but it's okay, because he's never been one for honesty.

They make love (but that's just another act, isn't it?), and afterwards she's in his arms, head resting against his chest. He rubs her arm, back and forth his hand goes, a steady, constant motion. She falls asleep with her hair strewn across his skin, thinking that maybe there's no turning back, and maybe she likes it that way.

It's this brief moment of understanding that only comes when all curtains are drawn that keeps them going. For a glorious few hours, they are RoryJess, and you wouldn't know otherwise.

It's an intricate dance, but they perform it well. Let the world get in their way, but they'll be damned if they can't have each other in the darkest corners. Once there's nothing but moonlight streaming in through the blinds, they paw and pull at each other like there's no tomorrow, and maybe there isn't, because really, how many straws does it take to break the camel's back?

She is his drug, intoxicating, clouding his thoughts. He wants her, oh how he wants her, all the damn time. He knows he shouldn't, but she leaves a sweet taste in his mouth, and he always wants, needs, more. So he takes her for his own, knowing that with the high always comes a fall, but he doesn't particularly care.

He is her greatest sin, the Unforgivable. She'd leave everything for him, and perhaps she already has. And it hurts in the morning, but she's not strong enough to resist his sweet temptation.

But then the sun rises (Always, it rises, never fails, quite a depressing thought.), and the only sign that there is something (anything) between them is glint of light reflecting off of the gold bands worn on their left hands.

He makes her breakfast in the morning, like nothing's wrong, but they remain silent. They steal secret glances at each other from opposite ends of the room when they think the other isn't looking. As they leave, she places a brief kiss on his cheek, and he tells her he'll see her later that night.

He wants her to grab, and kiss passionately, pull him into the bedroom, and never let him leave.

She wants him to say he loves her, whisper it as he kisses her neck.

But they know that the lies only come when the sun goes down.

They think that maybe they're okay with that.